


Disillusioned

by Squishy91



Category: Deadpool - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, References to Depression, References to Disassociation, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, Swearing, but also fun and laughs, missions and hijinks, “Getting better” - living a better life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 18:01:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squishy91/pseuds/Squishy91
Summary: “There’s a reason I’m not allowed to eat chocolate in the suit anymore.”—-In which there are Avengers (briefly), Aunt May (briefly), Parties (briefly) and a light spattering of Spideypool flirting, self awareness and drinking.





	1. Red Spandex

“You want me to what?”

 

“Shoot them Spiderman.” Black widow waved the explosive piece of tech in front of his face causing the masked hero to flinch backwards.

 

“Nope sorry; I can’t,” he held out his hands while backing away. “It’s against my branding. My manager will kill me.”

 

She levelled him with an unimpressed look until he relented.

 

“Ok yeah we work for the same people slash nefarious organisation. What I meant is that my maternal parental figure will kill me. Quite literally. Then feed me to a well meaning feminine friend, who will give me a literal three hour lecture on being a role model to children and displaying appropriate behaviour.” He shrugged helplessly. “There’s a reason I’m not allowed to eat chocolate in the suit anymore.”

 

“So what you’re saying right now is that you’re scared of your mother and girlfriend?” How this woman could both raise an absolutely disgusted eyebrow and smirk in satisfaction at the same time peter didn’t know. What he did know is that he felt both ashamed and proud.

 

“Take from it what you will;” he shook his head warily then checked his web shooters. “I’ll round the beasties up. Corral ‘em for ye an’ ye can do the shootin’ tex.”

 

The assassin continued her unimpressed glare until Hawkeye nudged her side.

 

“Kid’s got a point though;” he took the gun from her and started checking the weight and feel of it. “He’s probably never shot a gun in his life he’ll just get himself killed.”

 

Spiderman rubs his neck awkwardly.

 

“Uh yeah that too. I like my feet without holes.”

 

...

 

If there’s anything Peter Parker hates it’s being called ‘kid’ or maybe ‘kiddo’ like he’s fifteen again and in a freaking petting zoo. Not that he went to petting zoos when he was fifteen. He was seven last time. It’s just that every time someone calls him kid he feels like he’s at that petting zoo again and the farmer can just pick him up and throw him on a llama to show him not to be scared of it. Freaking llamas.

 

Peter Parker also hates walking behind slow people in the middle of the footpath, recaps on every episode, making breakfast and not having coffee in the house. He’s twenty-seven. He’s allowed to hate things.

 

Spiderman on the other hand doesn’t hate anything; even the villains aren’t hated just need help to reform. He’s always quick with a joke or retort. Not above fart jokes or the ever ready your momma reference.

 

Peter knows that it’s probably for the best if his hero coworkers underestimate his age by ten years and a whole personality; it makes working at Stark Industries so much easier.

 

There he’s a normal if slightly higher than average intelligence scientist: which is normal in the Stark labs. But he has seven PhDs, a flawless track record of experiments and patents on inventions that have changed the face of super hero gadgets. He’s allowed to be odd, grumpy and wear ugly sweaters at all times of the year.

 

Peter Parker is a weirdo genius like all the other weirdo geniuses at the labs.

 

However he has built Spiderman as a joking, lighthearted, moral and fun loving hero that the people love; this means he gets talked down to or over on a regular basis. If it’s not web shooting, highflying acrobatics, joking around or catching the bad guys the avengers just assume he wouldn’t know what they’re talking about or just can’t do it.

 

...

 

After all of the weird alien blobs had been rounded up, shot with salt and the citizens safe Spiderman sat on the edge of the building the Quinjet was parked on; half listening to Tony and Bruce arguing about the chemical makeup of alien slimeand Hawkeye explaining to Wanda how packing shotgun shells with salt worked without contributing to either discussion. Mentally he’d usually argue back a different perspective but instead today he decided that he’d just admire the view and enjoy the cool evening.

 

“Hey kiddo you did good out there,” Natasha Romanoff slid down to sit beside him legs dangling over the thirty story drop. “Sorry about the gun thing. I guess I just assumed you’d be cool with it. I forget some people don’t like them or haven’t ever touched one.”

 

“Uh thanks,” Spiderman rubbed his neck nervously. Of course Peter had touched guns before; every employee of Stark Industries has mandatory self defence and weapons training just ‘incase’. Hell he’d designed better guns that shot cleaner and quieter; he’d even invented a sci-fi type blaster based on Tony’s own repulsors. “Yeah I’m the web guy not the gun guy.”

 

“Do you want to learn?” Black widow stared out at the city lit by emergency vehicles cleaning up after the attack. “Everyone needs to know how to defend themselves. Even web-kids.”

 

She smiled at the still masked young man to take the sting out of her words.

 

He laughed easily.

 

“I don’t need to defend myself in my everyday life. I’m just your normal mild mannered alter ego.” He shrugs face passive beneath the mask.

 

“What do you do in your everyday life?” The woman asked gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a mild mannered alter ego or someone with a normal life. I didn't think they could exist in this city.”

 

Spiderman laughed so hard his eyes watered. Not that she could see that. He couldn’t help himself.

 

“Sorry,” he gasped out. “But everyone in this city who isn’t a superhero, or in the line of fire, lives nice normal lives. We all have our own little stories that we’re the hero of but don’t include villains or world ending fights.”

 

“Well I know that,” she was turned away but Peter swore she rolled her eyes. “I just don’t know much about you Spiderman, not even your name. We’re teammates.”

 

“Not much to know,” Spiderman flexed his ankles over the drop. “I’m a photographer.”

 

He didn’t know where that came from.

 

He hadn’t taken more than the occasional photo in years but it still wasn’t a complete lie. He loved photography he just didn’t have the time anymore.

 

“Huh,” she mulled the idea over for a moment before grinning. “It suits you I should have guessed.”

 

“We’ve working together for years now why haven’t you super spied on me?” Spiderman cocked his head to the side.

 

“Oh we tried but you evaded us, so Fury decided to respect your secret identity,” she casually replied.

 

Spider-Man snorted.

 

“You mean you tried and once the next big emergency came up Fury forgot.”

 

The woman grinned back at him.

 

...

 

Later the same day Spiderman swung through the streets of Queens; his original haunt.

 

There was a convergence of alleyways on one particular block that he monitored consistently. Twelve entrances, one secret doorway and the perfect place to change from Spiderman to Peter Parker.

 

The doorway that looked like a blocked off delivery entrance to the cafe on the street actually led up a narrow staircase inside the building to the second and third floors where Peter kept his labs.

 

When he’d bought the building some years ago he’d remodelled under the guise of black mold removal; adding the staircase and secret rooms accessible from only his top floor apartment or the secret door at ground level. The other tenants had no idea about the hidden sound-proofed rooms or the secret identity of their odd landlord.

 

The only people who knew about his activities as Spiderman were his aunt May and best friend Gwen. His Aunt May, now in her sixties, had given up telling him to be safe as Spiderman some years ago and was now adamant that he take more risks as Peter.

 

Gwen on the other hand was travelling the world chasing after a man. Well a professor of astrobiology and leader in the study of alien materials, that have come to earth with the influx of attacks. But Peter was petty some times and knew it irked her when he phrased it that way.

 

By the time he entered his flat from his bedroom closet after checking his security system of cameras and any messages his security software relayed he was boring old Peter with a frumpy jumper, glasses and a very sophisticated widow’s peak that is most definitely not a receding hairline thank you very much he isn’t even thirty yet.

 

“Peter be a dear and fetch me a nice cup of tea will you?” Aunt May didn’t even turn her head as he strolled into the lounge room whisper quiet.

 

He smiled as he approached the back of the couch she was sitting on and dropped a kiss on top of her head. 

 

“Sure thing Aunt May,” he walked across to the adjacent kitchen switching on the kettle as he grabbed teabags and cups out.

 

“How was your night Peter?” She smiled over at him.

 

“Oh you know alien invasion, superheroes and fun times,” he waved a hand in dismissal. “Same as last month really.”

 

She smiled sadly making him wince. He knew she didn’t like him swinging across the city all the time but she hadn’t said anything against it in the last few years.

 

Apparently that was about to change.

 

Aunt May pulled herself carefully up from the couch gently setting aside her knitting. As she approached Peter prepared himself for a scolding.

 

“Peter sit down,” she put herself at one of the stool by the breakfast bar and nodded to the one in front of her. As he cautiously sat she pulled his hands to hers and held them tight. “My boy I think we need to talk.”

 

She stared at him with watery eyes and escaping grey hair in whisks around her lined face. He suddenly realised he couldn’t remember when her hair had turned more grey than black or when her gentle hands had become so wrinkled.

 

He swallowed hard.

 

“Oh my boy don’t look so scared,” she touched his face gently. “We need to talk about the way you’re living your life. I think I’ve held my tongue long enough and I won’t be here forever to take care of you.”

 

“Aunt May it’s not that dangerous being Spiderman,” he hedges but she held up a hand to stall him.

 

“It’s not Spiderman who is living dangerously but you Peter Parker.” She grabbed both his hands once again. “You aren’t living my amazing boy. You work and study and fill your hours with your tinkering but you stay safe in your ways and you don’t go beyond them. When was the last time you left the apartment for something other than work? As yourself or Spider-Man you only leave for work. You get groceries delivered and spend all your days in here. I haven’t seen you talk to anyone who isn’t myself or Gwen in years. Peter this isn’t the life I wanted for you.”

 

He pulled away and tried to laugh off her worry.

 

“Don’t be dramatic Aunt May it’s not been that long.”

 

“Tell me Peter because I’m not putting up with this anymore.” Her eyes turned hard and determined as she held his gaze. “When did you last leave the house for something other than work?”

 

He smiled at her as he thought to himself; it hadn’t been that long since he’d done something that wasn’t work. Just last week- no. Not last week.

 

Peter frowned thinking to himself; perhaps it was last month? No the last time he went shopping was for Aunt May’s last birthday. He’d bought her flowers and - no that was two years ago. He thought about the last time he’d bought clothes; online and always in a size too big so he wouldn’t need to get anything else. When had he last had takeaway food? Chinese delivered to his door three months ago.

 

He carpooled to get to work with a coworker who was just as grumpy in the morning as he was. They never spoke other than grunts and the exchange of cards to pay for coffee.

 

He only spoke to his coworkers about work, experiments and .... nothing else. He could barely remember anything about his coworkers except that Vernon was a passable physicist and Erica made coffee like an angel and could code like the devil. He couldn’t tell you who was married and who played sports. He don’t know anything personal about them or even their last names.

 

Peter stared into the eyes of his Aunt who loved him like a son and threw the harsh truths at him when he needed it.

 

“Gwen hasn’t been back to New York for two years Peter and last time she did come back you locked yourselves in the lab all weekend. Then she left again;” Aunt May got up and picked up a legal pad from beside her place on the couch shifting her knitting off of it. “I have to leave tomorrow morning, my sister is still sick and I promised I’d help her out. I want you to do at least half of the things on this list by the time I get back. Peter Parker it is time you started living again.”

 

Peter looked dumbly down at the yellow pad in his hands:

 

Eat out 10 times.

Go to the Zoo.

Buy your own groceries.

Walk somewhere.

Have breakfast at a cafe.

Take 1 photo everyday.

Make a new friend.

Don’t let SM have all the fun.

Don’t be alone.

 

“Aunt May this is-“ Peter laughed. “This is like a child’s list of things to do. What is this going to do? Why do I need to change anything?”

 

The woman smiled sadly at the young man in front of her. He knew she was right; he was set in his ways and had secluded himself. Hell even he could admit Spiderman was the more interesting half of his personality and that didn't even include the web slinging. But above all he knew she loved him more than anything in this world just the same as he loved her.

 

“Ok,” he whispered. “I’ll try. For you Aunt May.”

 

She leant over and kissed his cheek.

 

“That’s my boy,” she smiled eyes sparkling with affection. “And remember I’ll be back before Christmas! And you can update me on the phone about everything you’ve been up to.”

 

....

 

Aunt May left the next morning hopping on a plane with a skip in her step as she bid farewell to her nephew.

 

Peter spent the morning regretting his promise to his aunt; he stayed on the couch mindlessly staring at the tv.

 

He couldn’t find the energy or motivation to do anything other than lie there and think about all the years he spent studying and working; sure he had his PhDs but they didn't mean much where he worked, he wasn’t challenged intellectually.

 

Even as Spider-Man he didn’t let people know he was intelligent: he actively encouraged the avengers to think he was a juvenile and never engaged in any sort of discussion with them regarding anything further than the current mission. But he’d been fighting alongside them for five years now and every time one of them asked a personal question he deflected with a joke. He sighed again and slumped further into the couch. Perhaps he should just go to his labs and think about the stupid list tomorrow.

 

Before he could move his phone chimed at him.

 

He pulled it out and glared at the screen seeing himself reflected in the glass. Unlocking it he found a text from his tech savvy Aunt.

 

_‘Send me a selfie. Proving you’re outside counts as todays photo! Got to Ellie’s safe love you xx’_

 

He sighed and pulled himself off of the couch he’d walk down the street to the coffee shop on the corner. That way he could mark three things off at once and his Aunt would be happy.

 

Before he could move to collect his wallet and keys his phone chimed again in a different tone.

 

Avengers alert.

 

He’d modified his phone years ago so that messages sent to his secure number provided by Tony would bounce off of three cell towers before sending to his phone and bouncing off again.

 

He wouldn’t put it past the tech genius to try to track him but Peter had years of practice at avoiding detection.

 

_‘Meeting at Docks. Alien tech scavenging. Intercept shipment leaving pier 23’_

 

Huh.

 

Peter shrugged to himself with a half hearted smile; being Spiderman was his job: Aunt May couldn’t blame him if he was going to go out and got called in instead.

 

Back through his bedroom he changed quickly into his spandex suit sparing a brief thanks that his high metabolism has kept him slim in spite of his lethargic lifestyle. Out through the skylight he climbed and began his running and swinging path through the city. He made good time appearing on the rooftop just as Ironman, Black widow, Hawkeye and Dr. Banner stepped out of the Quinjet.

 

“Heya guys what’s happened?” He greeted cheerily as he strolled casually over.

 

Dr. Banner came over with a tablet and gave him the dumbed down run of what they were after. Pretty much catch the criminals so the smart people could contain the weapons and if he sees anything tell them so they can tell him what to do.

 

“So don’t touch alien radioactive materials that may cause mutations or addictive tendencies like the physiological response documented in 75% of test subjects by the Institute of Alien Matter Evaluation and Study of New York by Dr Richardson?” He asked blithely.

 

“Yes,” Dr. Banner replied slowly staring at him. “The research results from those dangerous fields are generally kept from public knowledge.”

 

“I know.”

 

Spider-Man strolled forward to scope out the docks. Hawkeye came up beside him and pointed to a ship with a tall mast that would work for a vantage point.

 

“I’ll be up there. If you get into trouble lure them out. Tony’s taking point and you’re going in with Nat and him. You’ll go in down the street here into the dock warehouses. Find the one the deal is going down in and bust it. Simple. Stay safe kid.”

 

“Let’s go!” Ironman led the charge since Captain Rogers wasn’t there. They split up at the edge of the warehouse. Tony would delay then come through the front doors while Spider-Man and black widow would loop around to the back and side entrances. They all had their comms open and ready. They’d done this a hundred times before but it always got Spider-Man nervous with excitement.

 

They passed through the shadows as silent as the spiders they were named for; infiltrating the shadowed area with efficient steps. The trackers he’d planted on his teammates gave him a heads up display of their locations in proximity to him. The sounds of a fight broke out further out of the warehouse close to where the tracker placed iron man. As the shouting and weapons fire lit up the shadows with abstract silhouettes Spider-Man crept forward while checking his heads up display. Unless Stark had suddenly noticed the tracker, unlikely after eighteen months of using the tiny arachnid shaped devices, then there was someone else in there starting a fight with the scavengers.

 

As he paced further into the warehouse Spider-Man picked up a higher voice with his enhanced hearing. He focused his hearing into the sound of... singing?

 

Shaking his head in disbelief he focused until the words came into focus. Someone was singing in the worst cheesiest voice..

 

“... you up! Never gonna let you down!” Sure enough Spiderman appreciated he’d kept some form of dignity with his superhero persona and hadn’t resorted to pop ballads.

 

The sound of a gurgling groan pulled the spandex covered hero further past a doorway to a set of rusted stairs that led to a balcony overlooking the main floor of the warehouse.

 

“This is Spider-Man I have visual,” he murmured into his comm knowing it would pick up the soft sound. “There is a man in red spandex with the dealers.”

 

On the floor below the dealers had a couple of spotlights set up next to shipping container and a couple of piles of packing crates; presumably filled with the contraband alien material.

 

“How’d you get in before me kid?” Tony’s voice grumbled across the comm link. “And don’t you mean another guy in red spandex? Maybe he’s a fan?”

 

“Uh nope not a fan,” Spider-Man pulled himself up on the railing and shot a web overhead to swing off of. “He just decapitated one of the guys we’re after. I’m going to stop him before he liberates anymore heads from bodies.”

 

A hand brushed his side as a warm body slid against him startling Spider-Man into almost jumping.

 

“Well then give me a lift for your dramatic entrance kid,” Widow winked and grinned as they swung off the balcony towards the unfurling scene of a katana vs gun showdown.

 

Dropping the leather clad woman on a tower of boxes above the dealers and their attacker Spider-Man did a flip through the air spinning his body to make use of the momentum and kick aside the red suited mans next victim into relative safety. In quick succession he shot the attacking man with webs binding his arms and legs against the shipping container he was standing next to.

 

“Oh thank you almighty spank bank gods,” the captured man moaned throwing his head back against the metal container. “My prayers of Astley are answered!”

 

“Who the hell are you?” Spiderman dodged a fist coming from behind as one of the alien matter dealers decided to take a swing. The red and blue hero effortlessly grabbed the fist and bound the mans hands together with webbing. “Rude man. Totally rude.”

 

His foot lashed out hitting behind his attackers knees causing him to tumble to the ground and be incapacitated.

 

To the side iron man landed firing missiles at the guns held by the surrounding men as a couple of them fell to the ground electrocuted. Happy his teammates had the bad guys under wraps Spiderman turned back to his captive.

 

Who was gone.

 

In his place was a scrap of paper with a phone number on it with a scribbled note that read ‘ _call me hot stuff xx’_

 

Shaking his head Spiderman shoved the note in a small pocket under his web shooters and helped round up and rope together the smugglers. The paperwork that followed while in his spandex suit killed any and all adrenaline caused by the fight. By the time he’d jotted out the report on the Quintjet and waved goodbye all he wanted to do was go to bed. Swinging home he realised it wasn’t even full dark yet although the warehouse had been dark the sky still had some colour in it.

 

Stopping on a news station building he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the city skyline and send it to his aunt with the caption: _Smugglers and paperwork. A+ Monday._

 

——


	2. Margarita

After taking sending Monday’s picture to his Aunt Peter missed the next four days of messaging photos as he fell back into his routine of work, study and sleep.

 

It wasn’t until Aunt May called Friday night that he realised with blind panic that he hadn’t left the apartment for anything other than work or Spider-Man patrols since she had left.

 

In his haste to jump up and appear like he was actively doing something even to himself he fell straight off the couch and over the coffee table while answering the phone.

 

“Hey Aunt May,” he rubbed his head anxiously. “How’s Aunty Ellie?”

 

“Peter Benjamin Parker you get your rear out of that apartment immediately.” Her voice took on the deadly edge of a cross mother as he winced. “You promised me young man and I know you haven’t kept that promise yet.”

“Sorry Aunt May I’ve been busy,” he sighed as he hauled himself up off of the floor and shoved his feet into shoes. “I’ll go do something right now ok?”

 

“Thank you Peter,” he could hear the rustle and clicking of her knitting needles in the background and the familiar sound comforted him. “Now tell me how your experiment is going?”

 

Peter grinned as he shoved his wallet into his pocket and wrapped himself in a coat; the nights were getting chillier. Locking the door behind himself he decided to walk through a nearby park to the Starbucks a couple of blocks away. He regaled his aunt with stories of incompetent lab assistants and the bets he’d overheard his fellow researchers were making on the upcoming Stark Christmas staff party.

 

He’d walked two blocks and through the park before he realised he’d been laughing and talking to his aunt like he hadn’t in a long time. When she was there she heard all his work stories as they happened and in smaller comments without the embellishments: he was usually too exhausted from work to see the humour in the mistakes of the interns. Something he’d never thought he’d do.

 

“Alright I better go,” he laughed as he approached the coffee shop. “I’m here now so I’ll get my coffee and send you a picture how about that?”

 

“That sounds lovely Dear,” May hummed. “Good night Peter I love you.”

 

“Love you too Aunt May,” he replied as he hung up the phone and strolled comfortably towards the doors of the Starbucks.

 

However before he could even lift his hand to open the door his Spidey senses tingled; having the same bad timing he thought he’d outgrown in high school.

 

He rolled his eyes to himself and swiftly changed direction to investigate the nearby shopfronts. Most were open bars selling food or drinks of one theme or another; the different smells and sounds charging the air with excitement that Peter felt compelled to sidestep. He moved through the light crowd enjoying the night without involving himself in the social revelry.

 

Continuing down the street he felt the tingle of not right again however it didn't progress to the ‘oh crap’ of complete disaster.

 

Passing by a Mexican joint he would have continued on if a sudden hush in the crowd hadn’t brought a familiar voice to the attention of his exceptional hearing.

 

“Tacos for everyone!” The crowd cheered the voice. “Margaritas for everyone!” The crowd exploded with screams and laughter as Peter squeezed his way through the back of the swarm surrounding the bar at the back of the shop.

 

On the bar top dressed in pink sombrero was an unarmed familiarly masked face in red and black spandex.

 

The masked man handed over what looked like at least ten thousand dollars to the bar staff then started handing out the drinks from his seat on the bar to the people around him. They cheered and grinned at him. A man they didn't know, who killed someone in cold blood only a few days before and they probably thought he was some new hero.

 

Peter whipped out his phone and started a message to a number he knew he should not have kept.

 

‘ _How do you even drink with the mask?_ ’

 

He hit send before he could second guess himself and headed back to the storefront and its assorted tables to take a seat while he waited to receive a reply.

 

Flocks of people started for the shop as people must have heard the good news of bountiful booze.

 

“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” The sultry voice shocked Peter when his Spidey sense didn't warn him of a threat. He jumped in his seat and whirled around to stare open mouthed at the masked man behind him.

 

“Wha-?” Peter stuttered pushing his glasses up his nose in a practiced gesture. “I’m uh, messaging my Aunt? She wanted proof I left the house?”

 

“Oh,” the masked man moved back a step holding his hand up in a placating gesture like he was talking to a skittish horse. “Calm down I don’t bite uninvited. I thought you might be someone I was texting.”

 

“Oh,” Peter ran a hand through his already messy hair. “Sorry I guess?”

“Nah its all good,” the man placed a margarita on the table. “Here have this you look like you need it.”

 

The mask winked at him before the man melted back into the crowd in the hooting bar.

 

Staring down at the drink in front of him then back after the masked mystery man Peter shrugged; he took a picture of the drink and sent it to Aunt May with the caption: _‘I thought coffee might keep me up all night.’_

 

...

 

Peter didn't know what to do with himself after he’d sent the picture to his aunt. He quickly realised he’d taken a drink off of a quite possibly villainous stranger and was way out of his social depth alone in a themed bar full of college kids so he left the drink on the table and slid away through the crowds now celebrating on the sidewalk.

 

Within half an hour he was back outside the bar this time on the roof listening to the seemingly endless frivolity happening inside; cheers were constantly rising, snatches of song vibrated the ceiling he was laying on and Spiderman awkwardly tried to figure out if he was stalking a potential threat or spying on a good guy he’d texted who’d made a lethal mistake.

 

Until he decided that socially inept Peter Parker had texted the guy not the crime fighting hero side.

 

Nodding to himself Spider-Man left the rooftop of the bar and patrolled along the street jumping from low roof to low roof barely needing his webs to assist the movements.

 

Spider-Man followed one of his patrol patterns of bars, pawn shops and back alleys webbing petty criminals to parking meters before heading back to his apartment.

 

Peter Parker went to bed disappointed.

 

—-


	3. Project Steakhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Peter Parker a morning person?

The rudest awakening Peter ever experienced came at the hands of Tony Stark exactly seven minutes before his alarm clock would have awoken him. Glaring at the time on his phone the young man answered his phone with more venom than usually found outside his namesake.

 

“If someone isn’t dying then they bloody hell will be,” he growled the threat through the early morning fog in his thoughts.

 

“Settle down kid,” the Avenger chuckled with warm humour. “You’re too young to be this angry in the morning. Up all night partying?”

 

“Oh fuck off,” Peter growled pulling himself to sit in bed before rubbing at his face violently. “Even when I was in College I didn’t do that shit. What do you want now that I’m up?”

 

“How old are-? Never mind look we have an incident and we need Spider-Man,” the voice on the line calmly started outlining the rendezvous point.

 

Peter kicked his way across his bedroom. He hated waking up before his first alarm. Something about being cheated those few moments of sleep grated against his every nerve putting him in the foulest mood.

 

He stumbled his way into his ensuite.

 

“Yeah yeah I’ll be there; and when do I need to be where exactly,” Peter glared at the mirror switching his phone to handsfree to shave. He knew it made him look younger however the irritation of stubble under the mask was more vexing than being underestimated. “And what are we doing?”

 

The was a short sigh. The hero knew he was being rude but he couldn’t help being annoyed at being woken up so early.

 

The voice on the line changed to a much smoother more diplomatic voice.

 

“Good morning Spider-Man this is Steve Rogers,” the new voice greeted warmly causing a larger spike of irritation than before.It would take a stronger man than Peter Parker to be rude to the All American hero but internally he was already rolling his eyes; no one is that patriotic or good without something to hide. “The guy the team went after last time for Smuggling extraterrestrial material has shown up again on camera with known arms dealers. It’s all hands on deck to stop this guy before whatever they have planned becomes a real problem. Can we count on you?”

 

“Of course Captain Rogers,” Peter glances down at his phone briefly. “Just message me when and where and Spider-Man will be there.”

 

He waited a moment to see if the other Avenger would say anymore before disconnecting the call.

 

—-

 

Spider-Man found himself waiting on the rooftop the message directed him to as the cloaked Quinjet approached. He hadn’t thought to tell them but he always knew where the jet was flying as even in its stealth mode it gave off electrical signals that brushed against his spidey sense.

 

As the Avengers disembarked Steve came striding over to the other spandex wearing hero clapping him jovially on the shoulder.

 

“Thank you for coming at such short notice,” he grinned then quickly changed his stance as he shifted his hand to pushing Spider-Man towards tony and Bruce who were heads together over a tablet. “Let’s show you what we’ve got and go over the plan one last time.”

 

“One last time?” Spider-Man sauntered forward to cheekily glance over Bruce’s shoulder at the small screen he held. “You mean share it for the first time.”

 

The scientists in front of him chuckled quietly making Spider-Man fist pump in triumph.

 

“Ok kid so hears the plan...” Tony spun the tablet face up to show a miniature hologram of a block of apartments; he hesitated a second before launching into a detailed and exact plan of attack illustrating everyone’s positions and jobs with animated figures.

 

“So its a perfect and foolproof plan. Let’s do it!”

 

...

 

It was a perfect and foolproof plan. Unfortunately it wasn’t idiot proof so when the red masked man arrived and started shooting the targets trying to get information out of them Spider-Man had to restrain the mercenary.

 

Luckily he’d only killed one of their prisoners as the man had shot the attacking man through the hand while trying to escape. Spider-Man pulled a thin flat box from his belt revealing soft thin fabric that shimmered in the morning light.

 

“Here let me see that I can stop the bleeding,” Spider-Man grabbed the mercenaries’ injured hand that he’d left unrestrained before reaching over and cutting loose the other one.

 

“Woah kid don’t let him loose,” Iron-man strode over in his gleaming suit. “We don’t know what he’s capable of; leave it to SHIELD to deal with him.”

 

Well Tony,” Spider-Man began in his most patient, calm and not condescending voice while holding the two hands up for inspection. One gloved hand had a ragged tear through he pliant leather while the other was untouched. The skin visible beneath the tattered glove appeared covered with old scars but otherwise unharmed. “It appears he has a regenerative healing factor that might make it impossible for us to subdue or incapacitate him using our normal methods; don’t you think its wise to investigate this and question him while he’s a passive prisoner?”

 

“Aw baby boy I am anything but passive,” The red mask winked at Spider-Man who took a half step back.

 

“Why did you attack the men at the warehouse last week? And why did you come here while we were in the middle of an operation?”

 

The masked man laughed the full bodied laugh of the slightly less than sane. Spider-Man stayed stock still calmly watching the display as the laughter slowly petered out.

 

“Oh please sweet cheeks, tell me you don’t think your team is the hot chick of this story,” his gaze raised to the ceiling while his body still convulsed with small chuckles. “I’m the hot chick here and I’m going to look damn good in my prom dress! It’s pink!”

 

“He’s insane.” Tony muttered under his breathe clearly disgusted.

 

“I don’t think so,” Peter muttered rubbing his chin thoughtfully. he turned his full attention back to the masked man. “What’s your name?”

 

“Wade Wilson AKA Deadpool,” Was the quick and easy reply. The head dropped back down to stare disconcertingly at Spider-Man. “But you can call me anytime.”

 

“Ok Mr. Wilson,” Spider-Man moved further into the masked mans personal space. “Why are you after these people, why shouldn’t we haul you in and why do you act so much crazier than you are?”

 

Deapool’s head cocked in a motion that managed to display wariness without the help of any facial cues. It was starting to unnerve Peter how easily the masked man could be read.

 

“You shouldn’t haul me in because somewhere in your super secret databases I still have super secret spy clearance that’ll have me released within minutes of our arrival and that’ll just waste all our time as for these fucknuts; they know where the man who painted me like a French girl is hiding.”

 

Spider-Man stood toe to toe with the masked man and whispered the only question that really mattered to him:

 

“Are you a danger to the people of this city who are innocent of anymajor crimes?”

 

“No.”

 

Spider-Man stared at Deadpool for a moment longer before stepping back and allowing Stark to take over. He wandered over to Black widow who was furiously tapping at a tablet while releasing a string of numbers simultaneously into her coms to assumably unlock some information on their latest captive.

 

Using a single finger to angle the screen down for a second Spider-Man caught the words ‘extremely dangerous, classified and project steakhouse’ before shrugging it off. If he had nothing to do with Deadpool he didn't need to know anything else about Deadpool but he’d still be wary of the man. Observe him.

 

After raising a hand at Bruce who was perched on a box beside Nat Spider-Man rejoined the inquisition around the captive mercenary.

 

“Look you’re lucky we let the kid question you first; if Nat did it you’d be singing like a birdie by now so-“ Tony was monologging until he was cut off by Deadpool raising a hand like a kid in class. “Uh yes?”

 

“By kid do you mean Spider-Man the masked guy standing right there?” Deadpool pointed at Spider-Man and cocked his head to the side again. “That one?”

 

Without Spider-Man noticing everyone, excluding Bruce, had moved in closer beside him; offering support or protection he wasn’t sure.

 

“Uh yes?” Steve Rogers sounded confused and suspicious as he answered the man.

 

“The guy who by all the info of a quick google search has been working with you for the past five years?” He looked around at the group surrounding him waiting for their hesitant nods before he continued the so far innocent line of questioning. “And if you track his appearances back far enough you can spot his appearances seven years before he officially signed onto the Avengers.

 

“So not only has he been technically doing the hero gig longer than most of you, he also had to be at least in high school when he actually started so now he’s what twenty-five to twenty-seven?”

 

The hero’s surrounding Spider-Man all suddenly shuffled awkwardly around to stare at the relaxed posture of the fully masked and completely mysterious teammate they hadn’t thought to question too far.

 

“Well technically twenty seven is in the next six months but yeah that’s about right,” he shrugged lying easily: his twenty-seventh birthday had been three months ago. “Well no one asked and it keeps my mild mannered alter ego out of the spotlight so...”

 

He tilted his head in a helpless gesture.

 

His teammates exploded into apologies and questions Peter knew he wouldn’t be able to answer.

 

Does that mean he has a day job? What does he do? Did he finish high school while fighting crime at night? Does he have a family? Kids? A dog?

 

He chuckled to himself before holding his hands up in surrender.

 

“Guys I like keeping my secret identity secret ok?” He also pointed to the wall covered in tattered webs. “And he was totally distracting us to escape.”

 

They all collectively groaned and headed back for the Quinjet where they bombarded Peter with questions; he evaded them all except; he lived in the city, he has no defenceless kids or potential hostages and no Hawkeye I don’t have a dog why do you keep asking?

 

Once SHIELD arrived to take away their remaining captives the group left in the Quinjet hovering briefly over a tall building, probably some bank, while Peter jauntily saluted his team and threw himself from the jet to swing himself home without being followed.

 

Arriving home he changed into soft pj bottoms and took a quick snap of his feet in bunny slippers that were a gift from Gwen and sent a message to the two most important people in his life: _it took five years but the genius’ finally figured out I’m not 15._

 

 

...


	4. How drunk I have to get.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans with just a hint of development. 
> 
> Beta read by my mum who is amazing xx

7pm

 

The Stark Industries Christmas party had become quite literally THE event of the year. Six years ago the departments had seperate Christmas parties with dinner paid by Stark Industries, six years ago Mr. Stark flew off to do whatever rich men did on Christmas and then the Avengers happened and by all the gossip Tony Stark found a family to stay in town for. Which meant by some flawed logic that the Christmas staff party had become a mix of cultures, people and games.

 

This year someone had the genius idea to give the guests a scavenger hunt across the three floors open for the party. Each staff member participating had a lanyard with a scanning code on it; every room had a screen that flashed the list of twenty things they needed to find and the rules. There was also a photo booth in most of the rooms hooked into Jarvis who ran Stark Industries; staff would go into the booth, insert their lanyard, say which item they were ticking off then their photo would be taken as proof.

 

Since there was close to a thousand people drinking, parting and playing the game in the tower for the Christmas party points would be awarded and taken in accordance to originality. If only the one person had that item they might get fifty points but if ten people all used the same item then they’d get only one point.

 

When Peter arrived with Vernon and Erica from his lab, after accepting their invitation of a ride, he took one look at the game and was ready to run in the opposite direction when Vernon grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the table handing out lanyards.

 

“Oh no you don’t Parker,” the dark skinned scientist grumbled hauling them up to the young woman singing people up. “Can we do it as a team?”

 

She hesitated a moment before smiling happily.

 

“You’re the first to ask and its not in the rules not to work together,” she tapped their names into the computer handing over the lanyard with its filled out card. “Good luck.”

 

Erica grinned putting the lanyard around her neck before slipping her arm through Peters.

 

“You aren’t getting out of fun Parker,” she purrs into his ear. “Vern and I noticed you coming out of your shell lately and about damn time too.”

 

Vernon hummed agreement from where he strolled along beside them.

 

They entered an elevator with a group of people some who had lanyards some who didn’t. There was no telling how the night would end; but Peter knew that he wasn’t leaving in the first two hours like he had for the last five years and he though just maybe he was ok with that.

 

—-

 

11pm

 

Peter regretted staying almost immediately however four hours later he was slumped on a chairs arm feet dangled over Vern’s lap wondering what he’d have to do to steal the food off of Erica’s plate. A cautioning look from Vern made Peter decide he would rather keep living.

 

They’d decided to stay until the winner was announced and that would be beginning shortly.

 

As if summoned the giant screens around the room flashed Tony Starks vodka bright face.

 

“Employees!” He saluted the camera with a brimming martini glass. “Cheers! Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! Have a great Friday!”

 

Peter shook his head a the tipsy antics but took a drink anyway. The drink in his hand looked like some fruity drink in a large glass but it was straight vodka with a blue liqueur to colour it. Suped up metabolism worked on alcohol as well as food. His body processed it too quickly to get drunk for more than an hour.

 

“It’s time to have a look at the scavenger hunt and see who the winner is!” He waves a hand and the screens all split into a splattering of images causing Peter to choke on his drink. “And now we all get to see the best pictures taken! Sorry folks you didn’t think no one would see them did you?”

 

—-

 

8:30pm

 

Peter grinned as they went into the photo both; he’d dragged Vern and Erica in saying they’d mark one off that no one else would have, enjoying their puzzled looks.

 

The electronic voice sounded over the fevered hubbub of the party.

 

“Please insert id and state which item you are checking off.”

 

Peter slipped forward and clumsily inserted the card off the lanyard into the slot.

 

Erica and Vern stood on either side of him bemused faces mirrored in the photo display.

 

“Item one!” Peter proclaimed slightly drunk. “Who has two thumbs and seven PhDs? This guy!”

 

The photo was hilarious. Peter grinning and pointing his two thumbs back to himself with Erica and Vern staring incredulously at him in shock.

 

—-

11pm

Erica patted Peters back consolingly but she didn’t say anything. They all knew what was coming. The more they drank the more they hadn’t cared. They didn’t think the whole party would be seeing the pictures.

 

Peter groaned into Vern’s shoulder. He just knew it would be the talk of the tower what everyone got up to at the Christmas party. The photos would no doubt circulate. He just hoped he was unknown enough that no one would be looking for their team’s pictures.

 

—-

 

9:45

 

Erica strode into the room glancing around briefly to locate the two boys before sashaying over oozing glamour and confidence.

 

Peter had never noticed her appearance before; she was always just a scientist he worked with, the-growling-anti-mornings-before-coffee-person. He was quickly realising with every new conversation that she was much more than that. Both of his lab partners were more than he had assumed.

 

He felt a brief stab of guilt that he quickly dismissed; there was no reason to dwell on his past actions if they weren’t going to hold it against him.

 

“Well I just watched six people drag Dr. Banner into the photo booths so it looks like everyone’s using him for the PhDs or something green,” she flipped her curled hair over her shoulder. “Amateurs.”

“Never fear my dear,” was the duet sung in reply by the two drunk men she had approached.

 

While Peter dissolved into giggles Vernon stood unsteadily to drag the three of them over to the photo booth in the room. There was someone already using it so they sagged disjointedly against the wall beside the door.

 

“Well which one are we doing then?” Erica asked.

 

“It’s a surprise,” Peter whispers leaning over Vern to poke her exposed shoulder.

 

The door opened and the three shuffled into the booth. The electronic voice started its spiel as the two men pushed Erica to the front and situated themselves on either side of her.

 

“Are we ready?” Peter asks sliding in the id from the lanyard. “Number sixteen: something green!”

 

The camera flashed at the screen displayed their photo: Erica’s disgusted face with a green tongue on either side.

 

Yep no one else would have a photo like that; everyone else had at least an ounce of class.

 

—-

 

11:05pm

 

Peter groaned as photos filtered past; some of them classy, some smart and a large amount as crazy and unpredictable as their own had been.

 

The photos still flashed on some screens but the video feed of Tony came back online holding a small tablet.

 

“Ok so I hate build up so here we go: third place Melissa Crudgoen with two hundred and fifty points, second place James Berkeley with three hundred and ten points, and finally first place with four hundred and ninety five points the only team to register: Peter Parker with Erica and Vernon Boyd!” Across the room a riot ofapplause and shouting drowned out all other sounds. 

 

The screens switched to show each winners photos; flashes of colour and strange poses. Peter to cringed with almost physical pain at the shenanigans that had been captured.

 

Peter didn’t notice the screens switch to a live feed of the winners as he whirled around to point accusingly at his lab partners.

 

“You’re married!” He shouts. “Why didn’t I know you are married?”

 

—-

 

“Do you have any damn idea how drunk I have to get to stay drunk to justify a drunk call?” Peter growled out as soon as the call connected. “It’s very!”

 

“And why do you have to be drunk to call me,” the voice on the other side of the line murmured. Soft sounds filtered across and Peter had the sudden and all to real visual of having woken the other man up. It was 3am after all.

 

“Because you’re a bad guy!” Peter exclaimed taking a deep pull from the bottle in his lax grip. He dropped lazily into the small couch crammed into the equally small balcony at Erica and Vernon’s apartment. They’d refused to let him go home alone after the amount they’d been drinking and pressed him into the couch only shrugging when he declared he needed to make a bad decision while he was too drunk to talk himself out of it. He taken himself to the balcony to avoid waking them up.

 

“The world isn’t black and white Spidey,” came the chuckling reply after a brief few minutes of awkward silence. Peter hadn’t realised he’d been lost in thought. “It’s actually shade of grey.”

 

“Fifty of it I think,” Peter mused snickering at his own joke. His jokes were awesome. “Knock knock.”

 

“Who’s there?”

 

There was a pause where the drunk man stared incredulously at te near distance face contorted into a scowl.

 

“What how the hell don’t you know who called you?” Peter took a quick gulp from the bottle and pointed off into the night ready to lecture. “Don’t you screen your calls? Wait don’t you have my number saved! What the hell I have your number saved!”

 

“If I screened my calls I might never get a job,” there was a pause and muffled curse across the line before the voice continued; “plus there’s only room for one nutter butter in this fanfic and yellow says it’s clearly me so are you going to talk sense?”

 

“When are you going to talk sense,” Peter muttered petulantly.

 

“Well I just answered a call from ‘The totally touchable and legal Spidey Booty’ so I don’t think sense comes into it baby boy,” The joking turned serious.

 

“I feel like his conversation is getting away from me,” Peter shook his head and eyed the half empty bottle before draining it. “Oh shit that burns!” He rasps out coughing.

 

The other man laughed freely.

 

“You know,” Peter was found himself saying as the laughter died down unwilling to stop himself. “‘Peter’ is a lot easier to remember.”

 

“Peter?” Deadpool’s voice turned confused in a way Peter had yet to hear from the man. “Why would I use Peter?”

 

“Well cos it my name,” The scientist smiled at the night sky lit by the bustling city; enjoying his reckless freedom. “And if you're not a bad guy I think we're going to be friends and friends call friends by their names Wade.”

 

The was a brief silence over the phone followed by a gruff cough.

 

“So, uh, what do you have my name saved as?” Came the bland and suspiciously incurious voice. Peter wasn't fooled for a second. 

 

“Alliteration Allies Anonymous.”


	5. I am afraid of what you are going to do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen. Joking ensues. Characters are doing stuff.
> 
> I suck at summaries.
> 
> ALSO a huge thank you to my mum (who wont read this) because she is amazing and supporting my writing even from a town away. She took what I wrote for the final scene in this chapter and made it SO MUUCH BETTER!

The morning after the Stark Christmas party dawned bright and beautiful. No one in the Boyd house noticed. Peter woke briefly to find himself on the couch covered in a blanket and quickly checked out again. Later he woke to Erica in sweats kicking him awake and announcing a trip to get the nastiest, greasiest most hangover worthy food available.

Normally Peter’s metabolism would stop hangovers however he’d managed to consume upwards of six bottles of vodka the night before and even a super body would suffer from the lack of food and water. Also the full night of social interactions had exhausted him more than he’d expected.

One hangover worthy lunch later and Peter found himself dropped home, crawling into bed and writing the weekend off.

He fell asleep with a smile on his lips. He'd taken time off of patrolling which would usually make him feel guilty for neglecting Spider-Man duties but he found the emotions weren't as sharp as they once might have been.

—-

Peter decided to take the train into work at eight Monday morning; it was a nice day and he’d be able to call his Aunt and catch up while he walked the last couple of blocks from the train station. Luckily he’d been up for an hour already and had downed enough coffee to make up for the weekend without.

He would have thought he’d regret his decision to take the train once he saw the crowds again but for some reason it just amused him today.

After getting out of the station and onto the street he shot a quick text to Wade: You do realise you’re really weird right?

He made the call to his aunt instead of waiting on the reply.

“Good morning Peter,” she answered happily. She was alway cheerful when he called her and he made a mental note to call more often. “How was the big party?”

He ecstatically fell into a retelling of everything he could remember from the Friday night. They laugh together and chat about the drunken antics.

“So how was your weekend Aunt May?” Peter asked as he stopped to get a coffee.

“Well honestly I haven’t been sleeping well,” she admitted. “I’m so tired and my old bones are aching but a headache kept me up last night so I finished some knitting. I’ve got a lovely scarf done for you just in time for Christmas.”

Peter chuckled at that. He had more scarves than any one man could use in a lifetime but his Aunt kept making them and he always kept them.

The subject quickly turned to the man Peter had been speaking to the night after the party. He’d mention him briefly to Aunt May but now he told her everything; happy to have a second opinion on their interactions.

“He's right I don’t think everything’s black and white,” she teased him gently. “He sounds like an interesting boy; just be as honest as you can with him. Then you’ll know if he’s worth the trouble.”

“Aunt May!” Peter exclaimed face lighting up red. “I want to know if he’s a good guy or a bad guy not date him!”

“Of course silly me,” she replied before going quiet for a moment. “You know I’m just so tired I’m falling asleep.”

“Then sleep Aunt May,” Peter smiled the small private smile that made his heart clench in fondness. “We can talk later.”

She muttered a drowsy “goodbye” and disconnected.

—-

Peter quickly realised how much had changed after a single night of relaxing with friends. Coming into the lab it was like he was seeing it for the first time. Erica was there glaring down at a cup of coffee when he walked in. She nudged the one beside her with a glance to him and he picked it up taking a tentative sip. Perfect like always; he'd never appreciated it enough to notice.

He glanced down at the writing on the side of his cup before risking a look over at the blonde woman.

“Hey Erica?” He received a grunt and raised eyebrow in reply. “Is this my cup?” Another grunt. “How long have I used this cup?”

She was saved from having to answer when Vernon pressed a cupcake into her hand and smirked at Peter tossing him one.

“About two years now,” the other man replied cheerily. “I actually can’t remember when I stopped waiting for you to notice.”

Peter glanced down at the mug again and read the elegantly printed writing: This mug belongs to Peter Parker; man of frumpy grandad jumpers, horrible taste in music, banjo playing, opera singing, closet Mohawk loving actual grandmother. If found please send help: we think he might be an experiment gone wrong and has been de-aged!

He stared at it for a moment before the reality sunk in.

“I take my mug to meetings! You always make me coffee before I go see the boss!” Peter glared accusingly at Erica.

She pointed a finger gun at him and sipped her very plainly decorated cup of coffee.

“But... but why hasn’t anyone told me!” Peter stared aghast at Vernon who shrugged.

“Well I think everyone in the betting pool had under a year so technically I think everyone forgot about it waiting for you to notice.”

“A betting pool?” He slumped against a nearby desk.   
“I know I haven’t been the most observant and I’m not the most-“ he struggled a moment for a description. “-present person but that’s just ridiculous! I’m a scientist! I’m supposed to notice things!”

“You’re are great scientist,” Erica finally spoke. “There’s nothing wrong with your work observation skills. It’s just everything that isn’t work you don’t seem to register.”

She shrugged like it was nothing but Peter felt awful.

“Yeah,” he started clearing he suddenly tight throat. “I think that’s something I’ve had a problem with for quite a few years now but now that I know I think I’ll get better.”

“Um, Peter?” Vernon squeezed the other scientists shoulder gently. “Are you ok?”

He raised a shoulder helplessly.

“I think I might not have been and I never noticed. But I’m not always like that anymore.”

“That’s alright,” he clapped his shoulder. “We’re your friends either way.”

—-

Later that morning, there was a completely astonishing visitor to the lab. Peter hit the ‘save’ icon for all his active work before swinging away from his computer to see what had caused the whole section to stop in their tracks.

Nick Fury stood in the middle of the room, perfectly lit by the halogen glow from the testing bench. He waited with the serene face of one who is completely content to wait for his attention. Which he knows is coming from everyone around him.

The scientist slowly got to his feet and eased forward; he knew the reason Fury never sent anyone to spy on Spider-Man was because he had tracked down to the super spy and introduced himself years ago. Fury had promised to keep his secret identity a secret, only to be compromised in absolute necessity. Apparently absolute necessity came packaged with Peter’s immediate boss, Dina, as well as Tony Stark and Natasha Romanov. Dina’s usual unshakeable reserve had taken something of a knock: her groomed thumbnail grazed the lapel edge of her sharply tailored grey suit. Tony and Tasha were playing for cool and failing epically. They were as transparently curious as a couple of toddlers in a petting zoo.

“Mr. Parker, we need to talk,” The spy’s face was perfectly impassive as he subtly tilted his head back towards the door. “Come with us please.”

“Yes of course,” Peter agreed easily. It seemed as if whatever game they were now playing, the man wasn't interested in outing him as Spider-Man.

Peter glanced at Erica and Vern, eyebrows flicking skyward for an instant, and followed Fury, Stark and Natasha out of the lab, leaving Dina behind with the other two. Fury strode ahead of the three Avengers along the sterile corridor to the elevator. Parker wished that Fury would give him some kind of signal, a nod, a look, a wink. The corner of Peter’s mouth curled as he wondered: how do you know if a one-eyed man is winking or blinking? They all stayed silent as they rode the elevator to the top floor. The blast shield doors whispered open to Stark’s personal labs, Dr. Banner’s lab, and the Avengers’ unofficial headquarters.

The cavernous room was heavily fortified, lit like a DJ’s nightmare, and fully stocked with weapons and Avengers. Peter felt a surge of something almost like panic, until he rationalised that the only thing he had to feel guilty about was his association with Wade and even that was brief at best; nothing incriminating.

Fury lead him to the far side of the room to a sleek navy couch that curved around a low table and faced a full wall smart screen. His movements were a measured, lethal dance across the area. He motioned Peter to take a seat as he stood in front of the puzzled scientist.

“You're treating me like a threat?” he stated, knowing it wasn't really a question.

“Yes.”

“Why? I haven't done a single thing to break our agreement Nick, and you bloody well know it,” Peter leant into the couch and raised defiant eyes to the spy's single one. “What are we doing here?”

“It's not something you've done, Mr. Parker. I am afraid of what you are going to do,” Fury sat on the edge of the table, angling forward and lifting his head to gaze at the young scientist sitting in front of him. “You are not restrained. You may leave at any time. However, for your own safety and that of everyone else I ask that you remain here.”

Peter glanced around the room at the group of people standing by the doorway: Tony and Nat had been joined by Rogers, Clint, Sam and Dr. Banner. None of the faces gave away anything, except baffled mistrust. They obviously had no idea why he was there or who he truly was.

Peter turned back to the man in front of him, unease prickling across his skin.

“Your Aunt is dead. There was...”

Silence bloomed like ink in swirling water. Perhaps sound was no longer allowed in the world.

Images flickered in an insane Rorschach on the smart screen. Fury’s lips were moving, but there was no sound.

Faces crowded, seemingly disembodied, concern, shock, sympathy registered on each one.

Surely, there should be tears?   
Questions?   
How? Why? What will happen to me?

Surely, something other than this feeling of being blasted through, hollowed, vanished, imploded, a nothing-man, a gone thing, a howling icy wilderness.

Noise returned, a static hiss, an old radio mistuned and heard from far away.

“Cat, and…sister…worried…EMS…on the floor, she was still…her phone…body…Coroner…

  
“Peter. She suffered a massive aneurysm. Can you hear me? She went almost instantly. The doctor says she didn’t suffer. She was talking to you moments before, Peter”

Peter turned his head, as if trying to capture the sense of the faraway radio.

This thing. That thing. When, what, how. Why.

Military precision in relaying the facts. A field report of a battle fought and lost over a distant mountain range.

There was no one to blame, no bad guys to fight and no last goodbye.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: non graphic death and associated feelings. I dont know what needs to be tagged but that feels like something people might wanna avoid.


	6. Maybe I’m Not Totally Ok (And That’s Fine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grieving goes through stages and so does Peter in his own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Marymaryyouresocontary, noonecares and my Mum for being beta readers and judges of judgyness

Peter wasn’t sure how long he had sat, frozen, before the urge to pace overwhelmed him. To move. Do something. Anything. Fight back. To push away, destroy, something, everything. He had begun to seriously consider sprinting from the building, when a voice interrupted the whirling chaos in his head.

 

“This way, Mr. Parker,” he turned toward the gentle, even voice and saw Captain Rogers—Steve--standing by a well-lit hallway lined with doors. Unthinkingly, he followed the other man down the silent corridor until they reached one Captain Rogers indicated the door with a nod.

 

As Peter opened the door, he realized that he had been asked to enter a small, but fully equipped gym, the lighting subdued against the dark walls unrelieved by windows. Without thought, he powered across the floor, and slammed his fist, whole body behind the blow, into a black leather punching bag suspended from the ceiling. The bag burst with an explosive crack, and jets of sand shot upward and into the mellow pools of light like sparks, or a distant rainstorm. 

 

“What the shit Parker!” Peter pivoted, to see Tony staring at him. Stark’s expression was completely flabbergasted. “You're one of my science geeks…how the hell are you doing that?”

 

Natasha none-too-subtly kicked Tony in the shin, causing the man to swear and hop sideways.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” the genius muttered through the pain. “I’m- We’re sorry for your loss.”

 

Peter nodded his head jerkily. He knew he'd be hearing that phrase nonstop for weeks from when his Uncle died.Just hearing that phrase from Stark’s mouth ground the pain deeper into his heart that Aunt May was gone. And people were sorry…

 

Always fucking sorry. He strode further into the room, footfalls loud, even on the gym’s padded flooring; each step the only echoing sound. Further ahead hung a line of ten boxing bags, suspended on chains, silent and still.

 

He lashed out with a foot, slamming into the first bag, tearing the leather to rags and spilling sand across the floor, patterns of force and gravity in golden sand. The grieving young man did not slow, or change the fierce metronome of his lightning tattoo as he pounded his fists into the bags in quick brutal succession. The sand showered and hissed onto the dark floor. He reached the eighth bag and raised his fist to strike before dropping to his knees on the soft padding. Seven punching bags swung on their chains behind him, a gentle metallic clink in descending rhythm and the whisper hiss of the last grains of sand the only sound.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, realising all the others in the room had had to stand silent watch over his breakdown. “Didn't mean to break your bags, but I'm okay now.”

 

“Fuck me, Parker,” Stark stepped forward to crouch beside the other man, just out of arm’s reach. “How strong are you? Who are you really?”

 

Peter lowered his eyes, uttered a grunt of laughter with an hysterical edge. He ran his fingers through his short-cropped dark hair, once, twice, and moved back to lean against a rowing machine, facing the puzzled group in the room.

 

“This is not how I ever thought this would go,” he murmured, voice flat and posture completely drained. “I'm just your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.”

 

Nobody moved for a still breathless second then Peter found himself surrounded; at first, he flinched, prepared for an attack; he realised hands were patting his back or just touching where they could. They might have been sympathetic to a potentially dangerous scientist from Stark labs, however this wasn't a stranger with superpowers: this was their friend and they weren't afraid of him. They genuinely cared.

 

“Mr. Stark, there is a matter requiring the urgent attention of the Avengers;” the robotic voice of Jarvis broke into the moment with solemn finality. “Robbery in progress at Oscorp laboratories. The men are known associates to the men arrested last month with the stolen alien tech. The assailants have used unknown weapons to gain entry to the secure facilities. There is an unknown number of casualties. Immediate action recommended.”

 

“Uh,” As one, the group shuffled awkwardly and glanced around at each other obviously uneasy about leaving their teammate alone at such a sensitive time.

 

“Before any of you even think it: I'm going too.” Peter scrubbed a hand across his face and pulled a small red cube from his pocket. Rubbing his thumb upwards along it, the cube lit up and began doubling in size until it rested in his open hand, twice the size a fist. Opening the cube, he pulled a small disc from within which he pressed against the exposed skin of his wrist: like liquid the metal flowed up and across his body; his Spider-Man suit covered every inch of his skin below his neck. Rapidly,he stripped off his lab clothing, putting them into the box which he sealed again and with another stroke of his thumb, this time downward, the cube began to shrink until it fitted easily into a pouch attached to his utility belt.

 

In a matter of seconds, the man had changed from nerdy scientist to scarlet-skinned hero in front of his gob-smacked teammates.

 

“I mean, if I didn't just see that, I would not have believed it in a million years,” Hawkeyes muttered, eyes flicking over the suited man in front of him. “You're even quicker than the tin can.”

 

Spider-Man smirked. The expression felt awkward on his face, but he just ran his hand from the back of his neck and down over his face; the red material following the movement until he was fully masked.

 

“Well, since you old timers still need some time to get changed, I guess I'll just go over and do a little recon, maybe rescue a damsel in distress and save the day. Maybe there'll be someone left when you arrive,” he joked, his tone strained, but light. “Now if someone could show me to a window, I plan to throw myself off this building.”

 

Steve gripped his shoulder and squeezed it briefly.

 

“Recon only Spider-Man; we'll be there in ten.”

 

Right. Peter waved briefly and followed a silent Natasha out to the lounge room again, which she crossed in efficient strides. Opening the double door, she led him to a wraparound balcony and pointed to a small switch on the wall beside the door.

 

“Intercom. Jarvis will buzz you in if the door is ever locked.” He could hear the unspoken words; Welcome anytime and come back. “Wait for back up kid. Don't do anything stupid.”

 

Spider-Man jumped from the building, shooting his webs out to catch on another gleaming high rise. The rush of the fall made his blood pump harder and his heart pound with adrenaline. The ground flew up to meet him as he threw out another arm and arched his body; his momentum caused him to soar back up into the sky as he followed an unseen series of arcs across the city, heading straight for the Oscorp tower.

I’m

—-

 

“So, what's the sitch?” A campy feminine voice queried into Spider-Man's ear. Although his Spidey sense hadn't warned him of the approach, his heightened hearing had picked up the merc’s muffled swearing as he'd hauled himself onto the roof.

 

“You again” He said with a wryly amused smile; he didn’t turn from the view of the building’s enormous and completely pompous glass windows. It was a blatant ‘Look at me! I’m vulnerable rob me!’ “Here to fight bad guys or join them Deadpool?”

 

“Hey!” Came the indignant response. Deadpool plopped himself down beside the crouching hero; feet swinging over the edge of the building. “I’m not a bad guy! I’m misunderstood. I hardly ever unalive people anymore!”

 

“The first time we met you decapitated someone,” Spider-Man shot back.

 

“Aw! You say that so sweetly! Baby boy, you remember our first meeting!” Deadpool clasped his hand against his chest in a dramatic swoon. When Spider-Man failed to react, the man crossed his arms and pouted. “I meant: I haven’t unalived anyone in this conversation!”

 

Spider-Man turned to him at that.

 

“Are you saying it was a possibility that you’d unalive someone during this conversation? Between the two of us?” Spider-Man shifted his weight slightly, preparing to leap from the buildings if he needed to escape. As much as he felt Deadpool was an old friend, he barely knew the masked man or his fighting abilities. “Do I need to worry, Deadpool?”

 

“Oh no, not you!” The white fabric eyes on the mask widened comically; and that just shouldn’t be possible. “I meant me! It would be rude to fall asleep or walk away from a boring conversation, so sometimes I’ll unalive myself.”

 

“Unalive yourself?” Spider-Man asked, completely bewildered. His aunt had taught him to be polite but that seemed a tad excessive. Even she would think that was over the top and she always wrote thank you cards.

 

A sharp pain caused Peter blink away sudden tears as he realised he was still thinking of her in the present tense. No. His heart shuddered.

 

“So, what just happened in your head Spidey? You blanked out on me for a moment there.” Deadpool moved closer, causing Spider-Man to lean back.

 

“I’m here to work, Deadpool,” Spider-Man snapped back, and dragged his attention to the building opposite. “Either help, or come back when people’s lives aren’t at stake.”

 

“Touchy. What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Deadpool joked, as he poked the masked hero in the side gently.

 

“Nothing has my knickers in a twist, Deadpool.” He could feel the frustration tightening his muscles, causing him to tense up as he prepared an argument he already knew he didn’t have the heart to provide.

 

“Well obviously;” Peter could hear the eye roll in the man’s tone. “I mean spandex like ours doesn’t keep that smooth pert arse in perfect shape if it’s contending with underwear.”

 

“Are you insinuating I go commando, Deadpool?” Spider-Man asked voice wry. He kept his gaze on his target, however his body had turned slightly towards the other man.

 

Deadpool spluttered briefly as he struggled between laughter and keeping his serious facade.

 

“Because I can assure you Deadpool, I am very much naked under this suit,” he continued in a casual tone.

 

Deadpool immediately choked on his suppressed laughter; pounding on his chest to catch his breath and wheezing hungrily once he does.

—-

 

It was one of the worst days Spider-Man had had in a long while. That wasn’t including losing his aunt. The attack had been a distraction and the only thing that kept it from getting worse was that the suited up mercenary had decided to take Spider-Man’s orders for the duration of the battle. The two of them had to contain and incapacitate sixteen would be robbers while the rest of the team attended to the real threat; a stealth team using highly illegal alien tech breaking into a S.H.I.E.L.D storage facility.

 

Apparently they knew what they wanted and what was of use to them. The team set off a series of explosions; the ensuing mayhem had caused the Avengers to chose between retrieving the now stolen tech or containing a meltdown of stored artefacts hidden along Main st. Obviously human causality at the very public level became first priority.

 

—-

 

“I’m not hungry,” Spider-Man sighed as his companion forced a taco into his waiting hands. He poked at the wilted lettuce and set it aside only to have the merc pick it up and place it back into his hands.

 

“Eat,” Deadpool demanded through full cheeks. He’d somehow stuffed an entire taco into his mouth without Peter seeing the face under the mask.

 

“I’m not hungry,” Peter replied robotically shifting in his seat on the roof ledge they’d found themselves sitting on. It had been a long exhausting day and all Spider-Man wanted to do was crawl into his bed and clock out. However the mercenary had demanded his payment for ‘services rendered’ when he helped with all the attacks and clean up earlier that day. He had sat Spider-Man on a roof top and disappeared causing the young hero to question why he obeyed the mercenary so readily; Deadpool arriving back with a bag full of tacos. He’d plopped down beside the masked hero demanding he eat.

 

“Eat spidey,” he pointed a leather clad finger at him. “When was the last time you ate today?”

 

Peter stopped as the phrase, said in a motherly tone, chided him from memory.

 

“Yo spidey?” Fingers clicked in front of his face making him jump. Deadpool was leaning over him much closer than before causing an uncomfortable flip in his stomach.

 

“Sorry I just-“ he waved the other man off but didn’t know how t finish that sentence so he just left it.

 

“Ok what gives Spider-babe?” Deadpool crossed his muscular arms and cocked his head inquisitively. “Have you eaten today?”

 

“Um... does coffee count?” Peter felt inexplicably chastised by the masked face in front of him.

 

“You’re a growing boy! Coffee does not count! Why haven’t you eaten today? Crime fighting burns a lot of calories,”

 

“Uh well,” Spider-Man played with the taco in his hands finding the courage to talk to someone in the wilted veggies and soggy shell. “Well this morning I found out that my aunt died. She was the last person I had left in my family and now she’s gone I’ve got no one.”

 

“Well shit spidey you’ve been doing this too long for that to be your tragic backstory; you’re not going to turn villain are you?” Deadpool stared off into the distance rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

 

“What? No!” Peter glared at the other man. “It just sucks is all. I dunno.”

 

“Well then eat,” Deadpool lifted the hand that still held the forgotten lonely taco. “Mexican food is comfort food.”

 

“You’re the first person I’ve told. My best friend hasn’t called me back and there’s no one else,” Peter weight the taco in his hands for something to do.

 

“What about the tin can boy band?” Deadpool teases gently making Peter smile despite everything.

 

“They were there when I was told because I’m considered dangerous and an emotional outburst could be destructive.”

 

“You sound like you’re quoting someone.”

 

“Fury.”

 

“Ah.”

 

The conversation petered our so Spider-Man did the only thing he could think of doing. He pulled his mask up over his nose exposing everything below that point and took a bite of the taco.

 

Deadpool placed the bag between them opening it to reveal another thirty wrapped tacos. Peter grabbed another one before realising he had finished his first and began to eat in earnest.

 

He was sobbing great wracking breathes through the bites with a masked mercenary sitting companionably beside him offering silent support.


	7. WWSBD?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Am I stereotyping Gwen by giving her a pink phone that is mentioned in less words than this summary?
> 
> Things happen. 
> 
> Also time to earn that swearing tag. (Did I tag that?)

What to do when someone you love dies. There should be a how to guide. 

                            ~

Wandering aimlessly through the apartment a yellow legal pad caught Peter’s eye. Going closer he saw the list May had given him the last time they’d had a proper conversation face to face. She’d asked him to do at least half of the list before she returned. And sometime in the next hour a delivery man would arrive with her ashes.

She was coming home in the worst way.

Grabbing the pad he went to sit on the couch. Looking over the list he ticked off a couple of items: he went for walks, he had breakfast (or hangover brunch) at a cafe, he was taking photos again, he was having fun with his work mates at the Christmas party, and thanks to them and Deadpool he wasn’t alone anymore. He ticked off making a new friend because despite whatever instinct first told him to be wary the mercenary wasn’t some normal guy he’d met; he could trust him and he had come through when he needed someone even though they hardly knew each other. 

 

Tapping his pen against his shoulder Peter hummed over the list again: except going to the zoo he’d done almost everything on it. He could recognise the improvements in his stale routine life but he feared they wouldn’t continue. He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to go on this way even as a legacy to her but he would have to try.He ripped the page from the legal pad and folded it slipping it into his pocket. 

 

Staring passively at the blank tv Peter was jolted to his feet by a sharp knock at the door. The delivery man with Aunt May’s ashes. 

 

Opening the door he was hit instead with a mass of strawberry blonde hair, clutching arms and sobbing body. 

 

“Oh,” he fell backwards with the unexpected momentum crashing to the carpeted floor. “So you got my message then. Right.”

 

“Oh Pete!” Gwen finally managed through harsh breathes pushing up and staring at him with searching red eyes. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it.” 

 

The young woman lifted herself up off of his lap and scrubbed at her tear stained face. She didn’t seem bothered that they had fallen to the ground in the doorway but Peter wasn’t sure she had even realised yet. She had dropped a carry on bag and purse when she’d thrown herself at him so he quickly tucked them inside before closing the door.He ushered her over to the lounge and pulled a bottle of whisky and two glasses from the kitchen before joining her. 

 

They didn’t need to say anything as he poured two drinks passing one to her then drinking straight from the bottle himself. 

 

“Fuck.” She swore taking a gulp from the glass. “Shit. Fuck. Dammit!”

 

Tears were flowing down her cheeks unchecked and it was morbidly gratifying to see someone else mourn the woman who was such a integral part of his life. He knew with most of her friends and family already gone there would only be a handful of people left in this world to remember May Parker. 

 

They sat in silence interrupted by swearing as each of them tried and failed to express themselves. 

 

Finally a short knock at the door had Peter leaving his seat to answer it. 

 

“Mr. Parker?” A man in a sharp black suit handed over a tablet and stylus. “Please sign here for your package and leave your thumbprint at the bottom there.” 

 

 

Peter hesitated for a moment staring at the SHIELD emblem at the top of the screen before signing it, leaving his imprint and handing it back. The man unceremoniously handed over a plain cardboard box the length of his palm, bobbed his head respectfully and left.

 

Peter stood there holding the small parcel in stunned disbelief. Eventually Gwen guided him back to the couch with a firm hand and shut the door. The man fumbled with the box opening it with unsteady hands: inside lay a sealed plastic bag of ash with a sticker on the side proclaiming ‘May Parker 20th December 2018’ and that's was it.

 

“That is fucking ridiculous,” Gwen turned her head away reaching instead for another drink. 

 

Peter nodded agreement; it seemed stupidly simple to place a human body in a plastic baggie like a sandwich. He walked over to the mantle and carefully pulled down a simple blue urn. Placing it on the coffee table beside the bottle of scotch he opened it for the first time. Looking at the contents he laughed a slightly maniacal laugh; inside sat an identical plastic bag of nondescript ash. He carefully placed his aunts bag inside the urn with his uncles before replacing it on the mantel. 

 

Grabbing a new bottle of scotch from the kitchen he nudged the half empty one over to his best friend and only remaining family: Gwen. 

 

It was fucking ridiculous, disappointing and somehow a poetically sound way to end up. Ashes in a plastic bag. 

 

—-

That night Peter got drunker than he had ever before. The next day he woke up exhausted but settled. 

 

—-

 

When Gwen had arrived it was five days until Christmas and Peter had been given compassionate leave until the first Monday of the new year.

 

Somehow it felt crueler that he had all the free time to remember he’d be alone in the house once Gwen left after Christmas. For now she spread herself across his guest room and being that she was his only ever guest it was for all intents and purposes just her room. She spent most of her days with him playing around in his lab and her nights visiting her mother across the city. 

 

Every night Spider-Man patrolled from dusk until dawn. He webbed petty criminals to parking meters and subdued the more serious criminals within an inch of acceptable hero conduct. 

 

Christmas Eve dawned bright and cheery for a New York day; Peter found himself a few hours later having his first coffee in the kitchen as Gwen muttered into her phone gesturing to herself as she spoke to whoever had called her. She’d flipped her phone open and upon seeing the caller had moved into the lounge room for some privacy. 

 

Peter frowned as he looked over at Gwen’s handbag sitting on the counter: her pink phone case visibly poking out of the black leather. He hadn’t realised she had two phones or why she would need them. 

 

Watching her something akin to unease tingled across his back. Thumbing the side of his coffee mug the man thought about the woman now stalking back and forth speaking in a harsh angry tone at whoever had called on Christmas Eve to bother her. He’d just wait and ask her. He trusted Gwen incomparably and wouldn’t waste time thinking of nonsense when he could just amuse himself at the expense of whoever was stupid enough to annoy the spitfire that was his best friend. 

 

Soon enough she hung up the phone with a definitive snap. 

 

“Sorry about that,” she brushed hair out of her face where it had fallen during her pacing. “Work.” 

 

“Was it important?” Peter asked still amused. 

 

“Actually yes,” Gwen sighed picking up her own coffee mug and looking down into it. “An experiment we’ve had gestating for a while is looking like it needs further testing. And since I’m the primary on it I’ll have to go in.”

 

She glanced up at him before looking away again. 

 

“I’m sorry I wanted to stay until New Years but they can’t be trusted to do this without me and it’s really so very important.” Her fingers clenched against the porcelain. “Those idiots would mess it up and loose a year of work for me.” 

 

Something in her tone turned ugly as she drummed her fingers against the counter top. 

 

“Honestly you leave people alone with highly hazardous materials and you’d think they’d know not to bugger around with it,” she growled out. 

 

“Shouldn’t they though?” Peter put his mug down and frowned at his friend. “If they work with you and Dr. Richardson shouldn’t they be competent? I mean he is the leading expert in alien research; wouldn’t he have the best?” 

 

“You’d think so,” she smiled at him sadly. “But Dr. Richardson is always saying that he’s the brightest mind in the room; that no one could even dream to be compared to him. If I was smarter I would have left years ago.”

 

“Why don't you just leave?” 

 

“At New Years I took control of our current project and I think I need to see it through,” Gwen smiled at him putting her mug down and rounding the counter she pulled Peter forwards enveloping him in her arms. “It's just really important to me but so are you so I wont go if you're not ready.” 

 

His throat burnt with the sudden need to cry and he held her tight hands clutching her close.

 

“It's ok. I'm ok.” He stated resting his chin upon her hair no longer fighting the tears that burnt his eyes and made it so painful to breathe. “I'm probably not ready and that's ok because I don't think I was ever going to be ready for this. I have no fucking clue what I'm going to do. She was always there and always by my side; she made me chicken soup when I was sick, she pulled me out of the lab for dinner so I wouldn't forget to eat, she told me off when I worried her and she always told me she loved me more than I said it back. She was always there for me, I'm going to miss her so fucking much and I just don't know what I’m going to do without her Aunt May-“ he gasped past they tears falling down his face to soak her hair his throat constricting painfully. “-Aunt May I never said it but; She was my mum.”

 

“Oh Peter,” Gwen shook in his arms as her own tears soaked the front of his pyjama shirt. “She knew.”

 

——

 

Peter saw Gwen off in a taxi so she could visit her own mother before going to the airport and Spider-Man spent the first Christmas Eve ever out patrolling the streets. 

 

Aunt May had always said that Christmas was for family and never let Peter leave her sights for the three days of Christmas they celebrated. Similarly she never took a shift from Christmas Eve to Boxing Day. Peter couldn't face the holidays alone or being awkwardly shoehorned into his friends family events only to be shown what he was missing.

 

Instead he decided to dedicate his time to protecting the neighbourhood as Spider-Man; funnily enough he didn't feel as disconnected from his superhero persona as he once did swinging from building to building canvassing the streets.

 

His life as Peter Parker had become stagnant in the monotony of motions that his everyday routine comprised of. He had firmly believed that Spider-Man was someone who did amazing good deeds, made friendly with everyone and had all the fun. But coming outside more often, speaking to his lab mates and even befriending a morally questionable mercenary had helped him see he was just more confident with a mask on but he wasn't so different. 

 

Except maybe the jumpers; no one would believe Spider-Man would wear ugly old man jumpers.

 

A scream pulled his attention across the street to a shadowed alleyway. 

 

Swinging towards the entrance to the alley Spider-Man saw a figure standing above a cowering woman.

 

Without hesitating he swung down feet first to incapacitate the shadows figure. The momentum of his swing brought him to the man in a perfect arched movement landing squatting on the mans broad back prepared to restrain him.

 

Looking down he noticed familiar katanas strapped below his feet with a distinctive red and black leather mask.  

 

“Deadpool?” He asked staring at the masked man now laying in puddles of filth and garbage in a New York alleyway. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“Oh Spider-Man!” The woman gushed holding her hands in front of her as she practically shone with admiration for the masked hero. She looked unharmed if a little ruffled with her bag hanging loosely from her arm and her hair a frightful mess trying to escape its tie. “This man saved me from a mugger but thank you so much Spider-Man for coming to my rescue! You're a true hero and New York just loves you!”

 

“Oh,” Spider-Man stepped awkwardly off of Deadpool’s back and offered the merc a hand up. “Well I didn't actually do anything m’am. It was Deadpool here.” 

 

He nodded over to the other man then looked around trying to spot any sign of the mugger.

 

“Uh speaking of which. What did you do to save this woman Deadpool?” The red and blue hero asked resting a hand on his hip as he inspected the other masked man. “It's not really your style to freely help people: Actually the opposite of your job description.” 

 

“Hey! I didn’t kill anyone cos I figured that’d make you annoyed with me,” Deadpool shrugged like that was the only thing stopping him from killing and it was a normal, legitimate, explanation. “So I just thought: what would spider babe do? And since my sticky white stuff doesn’t come out on command...” 

 

Spider-Man looked around the alleyway again. This time his looked up. There hanging from a fire escape by a garrotte was a man in dark clothes and a beanie.

 

Upside down. By one foot. With something pink shoved in his mouth. 

 

Spider-Man laughed. 

 

——

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I’m not sure what other countries do with cremation but when my grandad died I remember being so shocked by the little plastic baggie of ashes in a cardboard box. It’s something that’s stuck with me all these years.


End file.
